


If You Think You Can, Well Come On Man

by Cecil_Fry



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Enola Holmes Series - Nancy Springer
Genre: BAMF Enola Holmes, But do I even need to tag that, Crossdressing, Drug Use, Dubious Consent is non-con, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Gen, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Prostitution, Sherlock is a Mess, fight me, i came up with this at 2 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecil_Fry/pseuds/Cecil_Fry
Summary: Enola Holmes, genius in her own right, has to save her elder brother, the great detective, from himself. With the help of one Viscount Tewksbury, she attempts to save her brother, but will her efforts be in vain?
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Enola Holmes & Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	If You Think You Can, Well Come On Man

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I spent like two hours researching Victorian slang.

“Tewky!” Enola yelled. “I am in need of your assistance,” Enola needing assistance was odd, unusual even. She could do basically anything by herself, and Tewky was more of a sweet sidekick who tagged along. She had stormed into the hall of his estate in men’s clothes with her hair tied up under a hat. She had taken to wearing men’s clothes even when she didn’t have to. Her fashion sense would radically shift day to day. One day she would be perfectly happy in a long purple dress, and the next day she would wear a sharp, dark grey suit. But no matter what she wore, she was sort of scary. Scratch that, she was extremely scary. 

It had been two year since they had met on that train, and they had gotten much closer. They haven't made any plans to get married, nor were they ever going to, much to the chagrin of both their families. They were true friends, and only that. They consulted each other on science, politics, literature, history, feminism, and art. They shared many opinions, and ideas, so it was interesting to see what the other thought.

“You need my help?” Tewksbury teased. “I thought this day would never come!” 

She scowled at him, and he immediately stopped smirking, “This is a matter of great importance Tewksbury. Get dressed. Wear something nice. A suit,” He glanced down at his outfit, and then raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, yes. I suppose you’re already dressed. We’re going. Get the coach,” She ordered and rushed out the door, her normally perfect hair slipping out from her hat. Tewky was a little worried at this point, Enola was always put together, even if it was in her own way. She seemed worried, and this in turn worried him.

By the time he had caught up with Enola, she was climbing into one of their coaches. She growled at him to hurry up, and he pulled himself up into the carriage as it started to move. “Enola,” He said tentatively. “What’s going on?” He made sure to ask her in a very non confrontational way. She was obviously in a state of panic, her eyes wide and wild. Her hands moved at the same pace as her mind. 

“It’s my brother,” She said, her eyes shining slightly. “Sherlock,” She confirmed at a tilt of his head. “I found out where he’s been going for the last year,” Her eyes hardened. “And when I find him, I’m going to kill him,” Tewky knew there was no truth behind those words. If it had been Mycroft, maybe, but she was close to Sherlock. They had the same sharp wit and tongue. Apparently he had been getting distant, and cold, and she hadn’t known why. “He’s so stupid,” She hissed. “I can’t believe it. And as his more responsible younger sister, I have to go save him,” She leaned her face against the glass window, sighed, and closed her eyes.

Tewky knew that the conversation was over, though now he was worried too. He had met the middle Holmes child several times, and had been struck by how similar he had been to his sister. Everyone knew the rumors about Holmes. The reasons why he never took a wife, the people who he spent his time with. He worried that Enola’s brother had been arrested. He had been fighting in the House of Lords to pass a bill that made homosexuality legal. He was laughed off the booth when he suggested, but still continued to try to find supporters. 

They rode the rest of the way to London in silence, the only sounds being the moving of the carriage, and Enola’s tapping foot. “Stop!” Enola said suddenly. Tewky froze, but realized a second later she wasn’t talking to him. The carriage jerked to a stop, and Enola jumped out of the coach. Tewky followed her, and paused when he saw where they were. They were in the middle of Whitechapel, the home of London’s inequity. 

“Enola,” Tewky said nervously. “Why are we here?”

She barely paused as she strode briskly along the cobblestone street, “To find my brother,” She said, glancing at him over her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, muttered house numbers as she went. “123, 124, 125. Ah, 126!” She stopped in front of a dirty, wood door and knocked three times. A small metal door upon the door opened quickly, Tewky started as two sickly blue eyes peered at them suspiciously. 

“Lovely weather today,” The man croaked. Tewky glanced up at the overcast sky, and pulled his coat around himself tighter. There was definitely not good weather today. It must have been a code.

“True,” Enola said. “If a little chilly,” The man grunted, closed the metal door, and swung open the man door. He ushered them inside, and closed the door quickly. Tewky glanced around suspiciously. There was a curtained off doorway to a room with an almost floral smell, but the sweetness was sickly. Like a corpse left to long in the heat. Enola walked confidently into the curtained off room, and he followed close behind. 

They entered a large room filled with people lying on couches, and plush rugs. There was a low fire going, and the unmistakable smell and sounds of sex. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that the men and women in the room had glassy eyes, and rumpled clothes. “Enola,” Tewky muttered. “We’re in an opium den,”

“I know,” Enola said, and strode up to a man who was obviously in charge. “Hello,” She said, smiling. Even with her convincing smile, Tewky could tell she was faking. “I’m looking for a dark haired man, tall, dark eyes, most likely wearing a long coat?”

The man looked at her with the eyes of a shark, “Lots of men here fit that description. What type do you want? It’ll cost 4 shillings,” He held out his hand, and she looked at him with disgust, though it was hidden well.   
She giggled, a ran her fingers up his arm flirtatiously, then she said quietly so only the three of them could hear, “Tell me where Sherlock Holmes is or I’ll break every bone in your arm,” 

The man’s face paled and he stuttered, “We don’t use names! I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Enola squeezed his wrist a little tighter. The man squeaked, “Wait! Wait! I think I know who you’re talking about,” Then his eyes hardened and he pulled his arm away from Enola, she loosened her grip, and he straightened his tie. “But he’s one of mine,”

Enola clenched her jaw. “One of yours?” She questioned coldly. 

The man took an unconscious step back, “He owes me money,” The unpleasant man said. “He bought opium from me, never paid me my money. He works here now,”

“Take us to him,” 

“He’s with a customer,” The man said dismissively. “Look for him on one of the coaches, but he stays here. He owes me,” 

“How much does he owe you?” Tewky said, speaking for the first time in minutes.

“7 pounds,” The man said. “If you can pay it, he can go. You’re not going to-” Tewky was handing him the money before he could finish his sentence. “Take him! I don’t care enough,” Enola glared at him, twisted his arm enough to hurt but not enough to break, and walked between the couches in search of her brother. They walked among the couches, calling for him quietly. 

They had just about given up hope, when Enola snarled, and ripped a man from one of the couches. She pushed him to the floor, and Tewky inhaled sharply at the man who was laying on the couch. He was half dressed, and his hair was all over the place. His eyes were sunken, and Tewky could count his ribs. Tewky was shocked away from staring, by the man on the floor yelling, “Hey! I paid for that!” He was also half dressed, but his eyes seemed more alert. “You can’t do that! I wasn’t fucking done!”

Enola’s eyes flashed, and she stomped on the man’s hand. He howled in pain, and she kicked him, “Get the hell away from my brother,”

The man glared at her, then spat in her face. He then turned on his heel walking away with his tail between his legs, muttering insults under his breath.

Enola turned back to her brother, and glared at him. “Help me get him dressed,” They pulled his pants and trousers back up, and buttoned his shirt. He was mumbling something, but neither of them could understand what he was saying. They hauled him to his feet, and he followed behind them. The bouncer spared them a glance, before he went back to his book. They entered the damp street, and Sherlock started shivering. Tewky realized that it was December London weather, and Sherlock was only wearing a pair of linen trousers, and a thin dress shirt. 

Tewky shrugged off his thick winter coat, and put it around Sherlock. Enola shot him a look of thanks. It must have only helped a little, since his shivering only died down a little. They walked down to where the carriage should have been, only to find it gone. The driver must not have wanted to wait in the crime infested Whitechapel. Enola cursed under her breath, and ran her hand through her hair. “We’ll have to go to my flat,” She said. “It’s not very far from here,” 

They began their trudge down the winding streets of London. They were silent, except for the one time when a pair of wealthy women looked at them in disgust, and Enola called them things that would make a sailor blush. They stopped in front of a picturesque stone building where Enola was living. There were brown flowers in the window beds, and lacy white curtains on every window. She pushed the door open, and started up the stairs, them both supporting up the stairs. 

When they were halfway up the stairs, a woman said from the landing, “Miss. Holmes is that you?” She gasped when she saw them on the stairs. “Miss. Holmes! Whatever are you doing?!” She looked Enola up and down. “And what are you wearing?!”

Enola sighed, “I’m having a bit of a family emergency Mrs. Moore. I’m sorry I’m coming in so late,” 

Mrs. Moore looked at them in horror, “I will not have men in my house! I will put up with your eccentricities, even your cross dressing, but I will not have men in my house at night! Especially,” Her angry gaze turned on Sherlock. “Not men of that sort,”

Enola glared at her. “Mrs. Moore, that is my brother you are talking about. What sort of man do you think he is,”

Enola’s landlady’s face was slowly turning red. “I don’t care if he’s your brother Miss. Holmes! I won’t have men of low character, drunks, sodomites, or three-penny-uprights in my boarding house!” At the final description of Sherlock, she was yelling. Young women were starting to leave their rooms, blurry eyed. Most of them were women from money, who worked as shop girls, while their fathers or brothers sent them money. A few were even students. A few were young widows. They were giggling and whispering to each other. A few had just rolled their eyes and gone back to bed. Tewky was grateful for the ones who had left.

“How dare you?” Enola said, fury in her voice. “That is my brother you are talking about, and this is,” She gestured at Tewky. “Viscount Tewksbury,” Tewky waved nervously. “I pay my rent on time, and keep the noise down. We deserve respect, and I will take care of my brother without your judgement!” At these last words, she glared at the young women, standing around the stairs. They quickly scuttled back to their rooms. She gave one last nod to her spluttering landlady, and walked up the rest of the stairs to her room. 

They pushed the door open, and Enola led Sherlock to the bed. He still hadn’t said anything coherent, but was still mumbling words under his breath. As she tried to push him down on the bed, he said the first thing since they found him, “Did you pay?” Tewky and Enola shot each other brief looks of shock, before Enola laid him gently on the bed. He curled himself into a ball, and closed his eyes.

“What do we do?” Enola said. That was a first for her. She was usually so confident, and put together. Her eyes were shiny with tears, and she was sniffling. 

Tewky walked up to her, and hugged her. He buried his face into her hair. It was a good thing that he had some basic medical training. “First, we need to assess his injuries,” He held her at arm's length. “To do that I need to take his clothes off. You might be more comfortable-” 

“No,” She interrupted. “I’m staying. He needs me,” Tewky nodded, and walked up to the bed. It was a good thing that Enola grew some medicinal herbs in her room, just in case. He instructed her to boil some water to clean some cloth. He walked up to Sherlock, and gently took off his shirt. He covered his lower half with a sheet to give him some privacy. Sherlock muttered something, and turned himself onto his stomach. Tewky pulled the rest of his shirt off, and gasped quietly. There was a large bite mark right in the center of the back of his neck. Surrounding the bite were much smaller bruises, which a rather racy romance novel had once described as a love bite. He was glad Enola was downstairs getting bandages from a friend who happened to be a nurse. Sherlock’s back was covered in bruises and nail marks. Poking out above his trousers were two bruises in what looked like hands. 

Tewky very reluctantly, slipped off the older man’s trousers. Sherlock muttered something in his sleep and tried to curl up in a ball. His lower half was even worse. Bodily fluids dripped down his thighs, and small cuts and bruises covered his hips and thighs. Tewky very quickly washed the man’s cuts and few burns. He then applied an ointment to the wounds, and washed the grime from Sherlock. He covered the man’s lower half with a sheet, and washed the rest of his cuts. 

Enola walked back into the room with clean bandages, and hot water. He thanked her quietly and bandaged the worst wounds, including the bite mark on the back of his neck. “He’ll sleep for a while,” He said to Enola, quietly. “He’s had a large dose of opium recently,” He looked at Enola, worried. “You should get some sleep,”

“You should too,” She said, leaning back in her seat, closing her eyes. He rested his head on her shoulder. She had changed into a light blue dress-maybe a nightgown?- and had borrowed one of her suits. He curled his legs up under him, and Enola wrapped her arm around him. Many would look at them, and see a pair of young lovers, but no, they were merely two friends seeking comfort in each other. Platonic cuddling was, and continues to be, lovely. 

It wasn’t long before the pair dozed off, curled up against each other.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock woke up in the wrong place. He vaguely remembered a pair of young men taking him away from Seamus’s den, but he didn’t know what had happened after. The sun was hitting his face clearly, so he must have been somewhere nice. The bed he was laying on was soft, and clean. He felt soft and clean. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, but that wasn’t unusual. But everything else was unusual. There wasn’t anyone in bed with him, and it didn’t seem like there had ever been. He didn’t think there was anyone in the room with him, but he couldn’t be sure until he opened his eyes. He didn’t want to open them though. Everything felt nice. Like a crisp winter morning at home.

His head was pounding, and his limbs felt weak. He scratched the croak of his right arm, wishing he had something to drink. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Or get some opium. He heard the door open, so he curled up as if he was asleep. A young female voice said, “Sherlock, I know you’re not asleep. I’m not a dimwit,” Wait, Enola? Why was she here? This just didn’t make sense. 

“I’m awake,” He said hoarsely. He sat up in bed. He was lying in what looked like a boarding house room. It was pretty, and clean, with an open window letting in the sounds of the city.

“Good,” She said. She smiled, and walked up to him, and slapped him across the face.

He raised his hand to his cheek, “What the fuck, Enola! What was that for?” His cheek burned and she glared at him.

“You very well know what that was for,” She said primly. “I found you in an opium den,” She glared at him. “What were you thinking?” He shrugged, and curled up in a ball again. She sighed, and thrust a piece of bread at him. “Here, breakfast,”

“Not hungry,” He muttered. He then felt a small object hit the side of his head. He looked up, shocked, and saw that Enola had thrown the piece of bread at him. He glared up at her, and she glared back at him. That sat like that for several drawn out seconds, before he grumbled, and took a bit out of the bread. Enola smiled with satisfaction and turned to leave.

“Oh,” She said. “There are some books over there if you want,” She waved at a tall bookshelf covered in leather bound books. She walked out of the room, leaving him alone. He rubbed the back of his neck, and was surprised to find bandages there. His baby sister had saved him. He almost laughed at the irony of it, but wasn't surprised. He saw a deep grey suit lying on the chair next to the bed, and quickly got dressed. It was nice to have some more clothes, even if they weren’t his. He hoped Enola would let him keep them. He walked to the door to the room, and was glad to see it was open. He walked down the stairs, ignoring the looks the young women in the boarding house were giving him. He had a debt to repay. 

It was nice of Enola to help him, but he still had seven pounds of debt to pay back, and he was pretty sure that he just lost a night of work. “What are you doing?” He turned and saw Enola standing by the front door with a young man he recognized as the Viscount Tewksbury. 

“I have a debt,” He said, hanging his head in shame. “I need to go back, Enola,” He tried to push past her, but she gripped his wrist. He violently pulled away from her.

“You don’t,” Enola said smoothly. “Tewky,” She gestured at the Viscount Tewksbury. “Paid it,” Well now he was in debt to some Lord who was barely more than a boy. 

“Well, I still have a debt,” He said, coldly. “Just to a different man,” 

“No,” ‘Tewky’ said. “It’s a gift. You don’t owe me anything,” It was hard to believe that this awkward boy was the Lord that turned the vote on the Reform Bill. 

“Well thank you,” He said, nodding his head at the boy. “I’m going now,” He pushed past both of them. He turned back to look at them. “And thank you Enola,” 

He walked out of the door.

Enola and Tewky looked at each other in exasperation. “He’s just going to end up back there,” Tewky said.

“Yep,” Enola said with a sigh. “Not much we can do though,”


End file.
